


The Best (B)Romance in Baseball

by ama



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sports, Baseball, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Unconventional Format
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25997659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ama/pseuds/ama
Summary: The Greendale Human Beings have been the worst team in the National League for decades, but rookie players Troy Barnes and Abed Nadir are here to shake things up. In more ways than one.
Relationships: Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir
Comments: 28
Kudos: 143





	The Best (B)Romance in Baseball

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very specific niche fic. To that end, I have written up a brief(ish) guide to baseball, assuming no knowledge whatsoever, that includes all the relevant info to understand what the hell is happening; the bolded information is the stuff that is directly plot-relevant. [You can find the guide here.](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1HHU6PKz1Xn9X2IYhLyPr0dyJUlojOe37oI6FO4FJVq4/edit?usp=sharing)
> 
> That being said, I lean more towards the casual fan end of the spectrum than the “actually understands sabermetrics” end, so if you are a more Advanced Fan, pls don’t judge me. ALSO I wrote 9/10ths of the fic being so smug about matching the seasons to the Community seasons before realizing that would make both Troy and Annie remarkably young for the jobs they hold in this fic, so… AU where Troy and Annie are inexplicably a couple years older?
> 
> The extent to which I keep or alter the record/existence of real-life teams is wildly inconsistent and impossible to predict. I got rid of the Colorado Rockies entirely because I needed both the Greendale and City College teams to originally be located there and let’s face it, Colorado can’t support three teams. Then I got rid of the San Diego Padres because I wanted the evil aura that moving to California gives a team but couldn’t use Los Angeles because LA can’t support three teams either and I needed to keep the Dodgers for a throwaway line and needed the Greendale team to be NL. Some of the standings are real and some are fake. The Yankees players named in the final sequence are real, as is their place in the lineup, although their stats are completely fake and I took the lineup from opening day, not the postseason.
> 
> Much thanks to adorations for looking it over and everyone who contributed their enthusiasm <3

**February 2009, Spring Training**

The air conditioning in Arizona was off the charts. Like, even for an airport, it was some serious air conditioning—which was probably necessary, given that it was only February and it was already 75 degrees out. Troy was almost cold as he waited for his suitcase to come around the carousel. He was idly thinking about how unfair it was that they got to call this thing a carousel even though there was basically _never_ a unicorn on it when he noticed that the lanky dude standing near him was spinning his keys—including a little Human Being keychain. He grinned.

“Hey,” he said, preparing his false modesty. “You uh, a Human Beings fan?”

“Yeah,” the guy said. “Since I was a kid.”

“Cool. Cool.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. A bulky equipment bag came around on the carousel, and he reached for it casually. “I’m actually on the team.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“Huh?”

“And I think that’s mine,” he said, face perfectly cool and composed as he pointed at the bag in Troy’s hands.

Troy looked down at it. Yeah, that definitely was not his. He looked over at the beginning of the carousel, where a more familiar bag with his good-luck Spider-Man name/address tag on the handle.

“Oh. Sorry.”

He handed over the bag and picked up his own, prepared to slink away. But as he turned towards the exit, tall lanky dude joined him, suitcase in one hand and equipment bag slung over his shoulder.

“My name’s Abed.”

“Troy. Let me guess—you’re a pitcher?”

“You know who I am?”

“No,” Troy snorted. “But no offense, dude—I used to make, like, little people out of pipe cleaners at summer camp when I was a kid, and they looked a lot like you. Skinny little arms. You know, if you went for the American League you’d get a designated hitter.”

“No thanks,” Abed said, still unphased. “And you’re one to talk.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means the Human Beings are underdogs. Always have been. I’m skinny and weird. The new first baseman is only here because the Giants let him go after a doping scandal. And you’re the potential first-round draft pick who blew it by dislocating both shoulders in a keg stand.”

“Keg _flip,_ ” Troy corrected, cheeks burning. “They’re very hard to pull off!”

“Yeah, well, not very many teams will bank on a catcher with that kind of judgement—getting injured is one thing, getting injured doing something stupid is another. So you’re lucky. I’m lucky. Jeff Winger’s lucky. We’re one alcoholic coach away from being the Bad News Bears, so I don’t think any of us should be criticizing each other for being an underdog.”

Troy looked at Abed. Unconsciously, his teeth began to nibble at his lower lip. He had been teasing… sort of. And Abed had turned it around without blinking an eye. Part of him—the part that had been a varsity athlete all through school and been courted by scouts from all over the country and topped everyone’s lists for first-round draft picks—wanted to put his nose in the air and tell this no-name pitcher to fuck off.

The part of him who had just spent a year in the Minor League affiliate of the worst-ranked team in the National League after being drafted in the third round won out.

“Can you pitch?” he relented.

“I put the ball over the plate,” Abed said dryly. “Except when I don’t want it to be, then I put it somewhere else. I don’t get why other pitchers can’t seem to make that happen. Can you catch?”

“And run. And hit.”

“And your judgement?”

Troy hefted his bag a little higher. He sighed, scanning the cars for somebody with his name on a sign.

“Listen, man. I’m gonna tell you something—just because you’re a pitcher and I’m a catcher and we’re going to be spending a lot of time together and I’m gonna need you to trust me.”

“I like where this is going,” Abed said, pointing at him. “No underdog story is complete without some early heartfelt revelation. Let’s go.”

“That keg flip… I hurt myself on purpose. I just—with the draft and all that, I just couldn’t take the pressure. But that _doesn’t_ mean I’m only here for the paycheck,” he said firmly. “I missed it _so_ much when I was out. Not even the attention or the money or anything, just playing. And then I had signed with Greendale and—there’s nothing to worry about here, you know what I mean? They’ve come in dead last in the division for what… six years in a row? There’s nowhere to go but up.”

Abed looked at him. He had very big, dark eyes that gleamed with a warmth Troy hadn’t heard in his voice. He nodded.

“All right. Let’s play some ball.”

“That’s what’s up,” Troy grinned. He held up his hand, looking for a manly grip and shake. Abed hesitated, then slapped his hand like a high five. His hand hovered in the air, and Troy slapped his hand again. “Go Greendale, Go Greendale, Go.”

—

**October 2009, NBC Sports Colorado: “The Best Bromance in Baseball”**

The 2009 baseball season is drawing to a close, and there’s one question on everyone’s mind. No, it’s not about the postseason—it’s _what is the best bromance in the MLB?_ And I’m here with the definitive answer: Abed Nadir and Troy Barnes of the Greendale Human Beings.

This shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone who has ever seen a Human Beings game, or talked to someone who has seen a Human Beings game, or knows that there are players named Nadir and Barnes on a team called the Human Beings. First, a little backstory for anyone who falls in the latter category. Up until this year, the Beings was one of those underfunded and overlooked clubs destined for mediocrity. Owner Cornelius Hawthorne spent a few unfashionable decades trying to pretend that the color barrier had not been broken; when it became clear that his “whites only” player policy wasn’t winning pennants, Hawthorne lost interest in the Beings, retaining ownership but providing little more than the bare minimum of funding. No amount of protests, pleading, or bad press could change his mind.

In 2008, however, Cornelius handed the reins to his son, Pierce Hawthorne, who is attempting to “put together a team that isn’t crap in cleats.” It has become very clear that the hiring of Frankie Dart as General Manager was nothing short of a stroke of genius, as Dart quickly put her own genius to work acquiring the best bang for the team’s buck.

For the first time in decades, the Human Beings have seen a real influx of new talent, including Jeff Winger, a 35-year-old first basemen dismissed from the San Francisco Giants following a doping scandal who nevertheless was made Beings Captain midway through the season; Neil Duquesne, who has been a powerhouse behind fellow rookie catcher Barnes; and Rich Stephenson, 34-year-old third basemen with a killer arm and a wink that has been known to make fans swoon.

Granted, it takes more than one season to turn a club around, but the new Beings are doing their best, and no one deserves more credit than Nadir and Barnes. Nadir’s earned run average this season was 3.16, respectable for any rookie pitcher but fantastic for a team based out of Colorado, where the low humidity and high altitude make Borchert Stadium a batter’s dream and a pitcher’s nightmare. It certainly is the lowest ERA in the current bullpen, leading Nadir to start an impressive 32 games this season and finish 3, more than any other rookie pitcher in the National League. Barnes was the catcher for all of those games, and together their win rate was nearly twice that of any other pitcher-catcher combination on the Beings. One would be forgiven for assuming that they communicated not so much via signs, but via telepathy.

Barnes early on established himself as power hitter for the Beings as well, batting .279 with a slugging average of .454 in the third slot of the roster, just ahead of Winger (.299 and .470) in the cleanup spot. Nadir, while not a power hitter, is a more reliable batter than many pitchers, coming in with a .218 batting average for the 2009 season.

But this article isn’t about stats. It’s about bromance. The Greendale dugout has been little more than a cemetery for the last few years, despite the best efforts of eclectic manager Craig Pelton, but that all changed with the arrival of Trobed (as they are fondly known on social media and among their teammates). By the end of spring training, there was a nonsensical Spanish rap inspired by a day trip to Puerto Peñasco with an out-of-date Spanish phrasebook. Fans eagerly pull up Twitter every time the Beings travel, hoping for a new clip of “Troy and Abed In the Morning,” a goofy fake travel show filmed on airplanes and the occasional bus. During rain delays, there are coordinated dances.

And the handshake. Oh, that handshake. Right hand against the chest, gloves out, tapping twice in sync. It makes an appearance every time Barnes visits the mound for a quick conference, and occasionally in other moments of tension or celebration. Yes, there are YouTube compilations. Yes, Little Leaguers are copying it en masse. Why is it so delightful? I don’t know. It just is.

There’s something about Barnes and Nadir, their friendship, and their obvious _joy_ in the game that is attracting fans in record numbers, even more than the Beings’ improved win-loss ratio in the 2009 season. Watching them play, one can almost forget they’re professionals fulfilling a contract. They’re having fun. They’re playing America’s game with the enthusiasm that many of us remember for our own baseball days—those of us who played stickball or Little League with _joi de vive_ and no talent whatsoever.

What is it about their bromance that’s so irresistible? “Team sports are the ultimate expression of community,” says sports psychologist Britta Perry. “Being part of a team has a material benefit—you’re more likely to win with help—and an emotional benefit—players enjoy each other’s company. Fans are purely there for emotional support, so when they see the emotional benefit playing out, it helps propel the fantasy that we, too, are part of a team.”

Perry added that the intensity and commitment of a “bromance” _within_ a team is often especially compelling because it’s one of relatively few venues in which close male friendship and affection is celebrated without suspicion or anxiety. “Everyone has pent-up gay urges regardless of their sexuality,” Perry claims. “Men don’t have many outlets for them except fighting and sports, and all that suppression isn’t healthy. Let loose with your bros! Tell them you love them! Slap their butt every once in a while! It’s healthy, people!”

Fringe psychology aside, there’s no getting away from it. Beings fans have had precious little to celebrate the last few years. They may not be celebrating a championship this season either—but they’ll be celebrating a bromance.

—

**2009 Season Standings, National League West Division:**

1st: San Diego Troopers  
2nd: Los Angeles Dodgers  
**3rd: Greendale Human Beings**  
4th: San Francisco Giants  
5th: Arizona Diamondbacks

The Greendale Human Beings fail to make the playoffs.

* * *

**April 2010, Borchert Stadium, New York Mets vs. Greendale Human Beings**

Halfway through the bottom of the fifth inning, Gobi swore under his breath in Arabic.

“Every time!” he complained, brandishing an arm at the field.

“Hm?” George hmmed.

George was a new acquaintance, one of those people who became your best friend for nine innings and then never spoke to you again. They had seats next to each other; they were wearing the same Greendale ball caps, which had been purchased for them by their sons (along with the tickets to this game); they were both small business owners; they complained about the hokey gimmicks the stadium had resorted to in recent years and thought people ought to pay more attention to the game itself. That was more than enough to establish a stadium friendship.

“I can’t come to all the games,” Gobi said. “I have to run my restaurant. And every time I _do_ come, they talk my son out by the fifth inning! He’s got almost thirty pitches left in his pitch count!”

“Ah, well,” George said with a shrug. “Joey’ll do a good job.”

“Joey, who cares about Joey?” he said, impatiently brushing Joey away. George frowned.

“That’s _my_ son.”

“Oh.” They stared at the field in mutual silence as Joey Elkins threw a few warm-up pitches. Gobi’s fingers tapped his knees. “Do you know where to get a halal hot dog around here?” he asked, to break the tension.

“No,” George replied with distinct chilliness. Their stadium friendship had drawn to an early close.

Gobi stood and sidled out of the seats. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he set out on a stroll around the park. He knew where to get a halal hot dog—as a matter of fact, he happened to know there were three different stalls where you could get a kosher or halal beef hot dog, but only two where you could get one that wasn’t cooked on the same grill as pork products. Still, that was better than the first time he had taken Abed here, more than a decade ago.

He had been perfectly indifferent to baseball back then. He used to play the games on a little TV in the shop, because his friends told him that Americans expected TVs in restaurants and would come back more often if he could make friendly small talk about the game—but not football, which Americans called soccer, because Americans hated soccer. After his wife left, he started to bring Abed to the shop even more often, whenever he couldn’t get a babysitter. Abed would spend hours watching that little TV, Star Trek if he could find it and sports if he couldn’t. And it just so happened that he was at the shop when they had to have that first conversation clarifying that movies and TV were not real.

The subsequent meltdown should not have been a surprise; you can’t snatch the Enterprise out of a kid’s hands without expecting some kind of reaction. Gobi had frantically tried to clarify that not _everything_ on TV was fake, that life was more than the endless monotony of school-restaurant-masjid-home, and in his desperation he had turned to the Troopers game playing in the corner and said, “Look! Look, habibi—the game is real! Look at all the players, and all the people watching—they’re having fun, right? That’s fun! They don’t need aliens to have fun!”

After a while, Abed had calmed down. He had asked if _they_ could go to a game—and how could he say no to a question like that? They could only afford the cheap seats, and he got tickets for a Human Beings game instead of a Troopers game because they were a whole twenty dollars cheaper, and that meant they could get sodas and french fries—no halal hot dogs back then. 

And Abed loved it. He had spent the first three innings looking between the game and the Eyewitness Baseball book he had checked out from the school library, and then gotten too excited and set the book aside; Gobi consulted it covertly instead. The Beings lost—of course the Beings lost—and Abed was terribly disappointed, so Gobi forked over another five dollars for a foam finger to cheer him up.

The Beings weren’t losing so often now. By the time Gobi made it back to his seat, with his hot dog, Joey Elkins had given up a run—he did not look at George and George did not look at him—but it wasn’t enough to lose their lead. And then Abed’s friend Troy got a triple on an error and his other friend Buff Ryan Seacrest hit a homerun to drive them both in, and the game was over. At the end, a nervous, asthmatic usher appeared.

“I’m not going into the clubhouse,” he said immediately. Family in the clubhouse was against the unwritten rules—Abed wasn’t good with the unwritten rules. He let out a relieved sigh.

“Oh thank God,” he said in a high-pitched, labored voice. “I’m still supposed to ask if you want to come down.”

“You’ve never been down there?” George asked, gracious enough after the win.

“No.”

“You should go. There’s plenty to see besides the clubhouse—and the boys like to show off.”

“Fine,” Gobi sighed, and the usher tried not to look shocked as he stood to follow him down into the bowels of the stadium.

He left him at the door to the clubhouse, where he lurked while a mob of reporters tried to get in their postgame interviews. There were plenty of people going in and out, passing him in the corridors, but the only one who paid any attention to him was an excessively smiley woman in a Greendale polo who paused as she was about to pass him.

“Hello!” she said in a singsong voice. “You must be Abed’s father.”

“Gobi Nadir,” he admitted grudgingly.

“My name is Shirley Bennett—I’m the head trainer.”

“Oh, you’re the one who won’t let my son eat falafel anymore,” he scowled. “Because what’s heritage compared to a ball game?”

“Not just falafel—anything deep fried. Find some heritage that’ll keep those arteries clear and in four years that boy’s gonna be buying you a Rolex.”

“Hmph.”

“He played good today.”

“Yes,” he admitted, softening just a little bit. “He did. They took him out too soon. He had thirty pitches left.”

“Pitchers who reach their limit every game have short careers. If he takes real time to rest in between games—”

“More Rolexes.”

“Porsches. Plural.”

He turned his head so she wouldn’t see his smile, but she said goodbye in the same singsong, which made him think he’d failed.

“Dad!”

Gobi turned quick enough to see the brief flash of Abed’s smile as he held up his hand in a quick wave.

“You came.”

“You went through all that trouble getting the ticket—”

“It was easy. Sorry I couldn’t get the box.”

“I like the stands.”

“Good. And then you came down here—you never come down.”

“Well…” He shrugged. _George Elkins has been down, and we’re rivals now._

“I’m glad. There’s someone I want you to meet. Troy!”

Playing baseball had not solved all of Abed’s social problems at school—on the contrary. Every game that he started was one that was denied to some other less talented, more popular pitcher. The whole reason Abed had been cheap enough for Greendale to afford was that he had periodically been dropped off teams due to bullying or “lack of sufficient team spirit.” Greendale was different. Abed liked Greendale. They knew his value here, and his friendship with some of his teammates was well-known. But even so, neither Gobi nor Abed subscribed to the belief that playing ball together was enough to turn men into a band of brothers.

Which was why Gobi _noticed_ when his son’s smile lingered longer than usual as he turned back into the clubhouse, and when his hand twitched unconsciously to hover over Troy Barnes’s waist as he bounded out. Likewise, he noticed Troy’s broad grin and the way his entire body hummed with energy and obvious delight as he reached for Gobi’s hand and introduced himself. He wasn’t sure exactly what that meant—but he was thinking….

—

**2010 Season Standings, NL West:**

1st: San Francisco Giants  
2nd: San Diego Troopers  
**3rd: Greendale Human Beings**  
4th: Los Angeles Dodgers  
5th: Arizona Diamondbacks

The Greendale Human Beings again fail to make the postseason. The San Francisco Giants go on to win the World Series.

* * *

**September 2011, Atlanta. Game 4 of a Best-of-5 Series, Greendale Human Beings vs. Atlanta Braves**

“It was a ball.”

“I know.”

“I thought it might make you feel better if you knew it wasn’t your fault.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Uh oh, trouble in paradise,” Jeff muttered.

“Shut up,” Troy said in a tired voice.

The elevator doors dinged open. Jeff exited with a sardonic salute, followed by Magnitude (no energy for a pop-pop), Neil, Pavel, and Star Burns. The elevator was empty except for them and Rich, and he was quiet until they reached the next floor.

“Good game, Troy,” he said brightly, patting Troy on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” Troy mumbled. “You, too.”

Rich was in room 780, to the left—Abed and Troy were in 784 and 786, to the right. Next to each other, like always. They were quiet on the short walk to their doors. Abed suspected that Troy was feeling guilty for the loss, which was stupid. He was one of twelve players who took the field during the game, and that last strike had been a miscall. There was no need for him to feel guilty, any more than Abed should feel guilty for not being able to pitch. It was a rough game. It happened.

But Troy took this kind of stuff personally. He always did. Abed wondered if it was the effect of too many sports movies, where the heroes always won in the last inning or two minutes of the game against improbable odds, where the underdogs turned things around just like that—which wasn’t even true. Abed could give him a list, right now, of films where the underdogs lost. But he didn’t think it would help.

Troy took out his key card. He fumbled with it a little bit—he never left it in long enough to activate—and Abed reached for the first excuse that came to mind.

“Hey,” he said. “I figured out the channels on the TV last night, and there’s a 24-hour Jerry Orbach Law & Order marathon today.”

“Really?” Troy perked up.

“Yeah. And at this time of night, they’re probably into the Ed Green era. You should come over to my room and watch with me.”

“Sure. Let me just take a shower first.”

“You can shower in my room. We have the exact same toiletries.”

“Dude,” Troy laughed. He reached out and ruffled Abed’s hair. “ _How_ do you keep your skin and hair so good using this shitty hotel stuff? They barely give you one day’s worth of conditioner.”

“I don’t really use conditioner,” Abed said, running his hand over the back of his head. “It makes me greasy.”

“Weirdo,” Troy said fondly. “I’m gonna grab my bag.”

Abed waited for him, and they went into the room together. Troy went into the bathroom. Abed turned on the TV and picked up the menu for room service. He called down and ordered, then settled down on the bed to wait. Troy was in the bathroom for a long time; he exited, dressed in his pajamas, among an enormous cloud of steam. He ran a towel over the back of his neck.

“You okay?” Abed asked.

“Eh, fine.” He reached across his body to squeeze one shoulder, rotating his arm. “My back’s a little sore. I thought some really hot water and a shoulder massage would help, but they’re hard to do yourself.”

“Come here.”

“Huh?”

“Come here.” Abed patted the bed. “I can give you a massage—unless you’re too good for hotel lotion.”

“Oh, don’t even worry about it.”

“I’m not worried about it.” He spread out his fingers. “I’ve got good hands. It’s no problem.”

“Okay. Thanks, man.”

Abed sat against the headboard with his legs splayed out, and Troy sat cross-legged in between them, eyes fixed on the TV. Abed’s eyes were fixed on Troy’s hair. There were little droplets of water stuck in his curls, and when he squirted hotel-branded eucalyptus lotion into his hands and started to massage Troy’s shoulders, his skin was still warm from the shower. He slipped his thumbs under the straps of his tank top and rubbed the bottom of his neck. Troy sighed.

“That feels _so_ good.”

“Is it heavy?” Abed asked. “All of your gear? It looks uncomfortable.”

“Not as uncomfortable as a ball to the gut,” Troy shrugged. “I don’t mind the chest piece as much as the knee pads and shin guards. They make me feel like a cyborg and not in a cool way. You can go a little harder.”

“Okay.”

He dug his fingers in deeper, tracing the curve of Troy’s shoulder blades, and Troy groaned.

“Yeah, that’s perfect.”

They continued to watch the show, throwing out their own one-liners every so often, as Abed massaged Troy’s shoulders down to his lower back. Troy dismissed Abed’s tentative suggestion that he talk to Shirley; he wasn’t injured, he insisted, just a little sore… and they had just lost the first series of the playoffs, so he was going to get plenty of time to rest in the next few days. Months. He said it without bitterness, as far as Abed could tell, which was good.

After a few minutes, there was a knock on the door.

“Tell ’em to go away,” Troy said sleepily.

“I ordered food.”

“Ooh, food!”

Abed called at the door and the hotel employee entered with his key card, pushing a cart.

“What’d you get me?” Troy asked.

“A burger.”

“Just don’t tell Shirley, because—”

“She wants you to cut back on red meat,” Abed finished. “It’s a turkey burger. Avocado, American cheese, chipotle mayo, no pickles, with a side of overcooked broccoli… and fries that we’re not telling Shirley about.”

“You’re the _best_.”

“Thank you. Thank you,” he repeated to the employee, who left the cart by the side of the bed.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Nadir. Enjoy your meals.”

The employee left. Abed paused to crack his wrist, and Troy glanced over his shoulder.

“Okay, that’s enough, thanks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I told you, I’m just a little sore. And I’m hungry.”

“All right.”

Troy didn’t move from his spot in between Abed’s legs, though. He remained there as they ate their dinners, and then looked over his shoulder and asked if he was blocking Abed’s view. The answer was no. Abed shrugged a shoulder noncommittally. Troy scooched closer to the headboard and leaned back so he was reclining against Abed’s chest. The view was better.

They watched two more episodes, speculating about wild plot twists to the point where they could barely follow the actual investigation. Then, finally, Troy yawned.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Late, probably.”

“Yeah. I should go to my room.”

Abed shrugged.

“If you want.”

Troy looked up at him. His face was soft.

“Hey,” he said. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For the food, and the massage, and the TV, and… everything.” He squirmed. “I, um. I don’t like losing, you know? I feel like I let everybody down, especially when I strike out looking. Even if it was a ball.”

“You didn’t let anybody down. There were eight other people on that field tonight. None of us can win a game by ourselves, and none of us can lose by ourselves, either.”

“I know. But I still _feel_ like it was my fault. And you make me feel like it wasn’t. Being around you—it always makes me feel good.”

“I’m glad,” Abed said softly. “I, um… I….”

He trailed into an awkward silence, staring down at Troy staring up at him.

Troy tilted his head and kissed Abed on the lips. It was quick, dry, chaste. It shouldn’t have been earth-shattering except for the fact that Troy was half-dressed and slotted in between Abed’s legs and Abed’s palms were _still_ tingling from where they had touched. They stared at each other with wide eyes.

“Why—why did you do that?” Abed stuttered. Troy bit his lower lip.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you going to do it again?”

Troy blinked.

“Yeah,” he said, like the answer surprised him. He turned all the way around. “Yeah,” he said, with more confidence, and he put his hands on the side of Abed’s neck and kissed him again.

Abed’s hands rose to clutch at Troy’s shoulders automatically. He dug his fingers into the hard muscle and flicked at Troy’s lower lip with his tongue, and Troy gave a warm, throaty moan and flung his arms around Abed’s neck. Abed’s legs latched around him and they drew each other in, eager, breathless, sure.

—

**2011 Season Standings, NL West:**

1st: San Diego Troopers  
**2nd: Greendale Human Beings**  
3rd: Arizona Diamondbacks  
4th: San Francisco Giants  
5th: LA Dodgers

The Greendale Human Beings win the wildcard game and earn a spot in the postseason, but lose to the Atlanta Braves in the first round. The San Diego Troopers win the World Series.

* * *

**July 2012, Washington Post: “Gay Players Come Out in Historic First for MLB”**

Steffi Graf and Andre Agassi. Mia Hamm and Nomar Garciapara. Sanya Richards-Ross and Aaron Ross. It’s not uncommon for all-star athletes to gravitate to one another—shared love for working out and protein shakes, perhaps—but it’s less common for both halves of a duo to compete in the same sport, and rarer still for them to play in the same league.

This morning, however, Troy Barnes and Abed Nadir of the Greendale Human Beings announced that they have been in a romantic relationship for the past ten months, becoming the first out gay couple in professional sports.

While the number of out athletes at the professional level is increasing, it’s still a lonely world for LGBT athletes—particular in men’s leagues and particularly in the MLB. Glenn Burke is widely believed to be the first gay professional baseball player (as well as one of the inventors of the high five). Burke played for the Los Angeles Dodgers and the Oakland A’s from 1976-1979 and was out to his teammates, coaching staff, and owners, but not to fans. He cited homophobia as one of his reasons for leaving professional sports at the age of 27. Billy Bean, who played for various Minor and Major League teams, likewise was closeted for his playing career and came out as gay in 1999. A small number of minor league players have come out during their careers, but more than one have left the sport due to homophobia in the dugouts and the wider league.

Needless to say, the coordinated statements released today by Greendale Human Beings catcher, Troy Barnes, and pitcher, Abed Nadir, are nothing short of groundbreaking. The Beings, while a relatively small franchise, have earned widespread attention for the past two and a half seasons as a series of player acquisitions have led to their placing third and then second in their division. Barnes and Nadir, who both came to the Beings as rookies in 2009, have been partially responsible for this improvement. Both will be playing for the National League in the All-Star Game next week.

The statements were met with an outpouring of support from players and fans across the country. The Human Beings coaching staff put out their own statement, affirming their support for Barnes and Nadir, applauding their bravery, and acknowledging the dramatic changes this could herald for the sport. “We remain, as always, proud to count Troy and Abed as part of our Greendale family,” the statement concludes.

Every member of the Human Beings team has retweeted this statement, including Captain Jeffrey Winger, who was traded to the Beings the same season as Barnes and Nadir, and commented “I’m a miserable grump who doesn’t believe in love and even I support this message.” Major League Baseball also released a brief statement “acknowledging this historic moment.”

There has been some backlash among fans, staff, and commentators however, with some arguing that Barnes and Nadir’s relationship, rather than their sexual orientation, is inappropriate.

“I don’t know about this,” longtime ESPN commentator Robert Laybourne remarked on his show soon after the news broke. “I have nothing but respect for Troy Barnes and Abed Nadir, you know that—Barnes is at the top of my list for this year’s All-Star MVP. But dating a coworker is always fraught, and dating a coworker when you’re a baseball player—when you’re training, traveling, winning, losing, when your attention needs to be one hundred percent focused on the game… I think this is an error in judgement. It’s bound to affect the atmosphere in the clubhouse.”

Others disagree, pointing out that the Major League organization has no policy discouraging romantic relationships of any kind and that the clubhouse in question seems overwhelmingly positive with regards to Barnes and Nadir’s announcements.

“Teams should be concerned about affairs, groupies, and domestic violence,” tweeted analyst Marshall Kane. “A healthy, happy gay relationship? Not in the same ballpark.”

A number of politicians and LGBT charities have already announced their support for Barnes and Nadir—including the Federation of Gay Games (formerly known as the Gay Olympics), which immediately offered both men the opportunity to run a leg of the torch in the upcoming 2014 games.

Meanwhile, within hours, Greendale Human Beings fans had made a rainbow version of the team’s compass logo that has been flooding social media, taking over Facebook profile photos and Twitter feeds. Baseball fandom as a whole may be wary of this new era, but Colorado is showing nothing but love for its hometown heroes.

The full text of Troy Barnes and Abed Nadir’s respective statements are below:

I have something I would like to say to my fans, to the Greendale family, and to anyone else who might care. I know this is going to come as a surprise and that some people may be confused or concerned. But I’m an honest person and I don’t feel comfortable keeping secrets from the people who look up to me and rely on me—especially when that secret is something so important to my life.

I am gay. For the past ten months, I have been romantically involved with my teammate, Abed Nadir. Abed is not just an amazing player and a great friend, but probably the most incredible person I have ever met, and we have been very happy together. Our teammates, managers, and coaching staff have been aware of our relationship since the week before Opening Day; we wanted to give them time to process the information and get comfortable with it. Most of them were not surprised. All of them have been very cool and supportive for the last few months, and we could not have asked for a better clubhouse.

I’m not making this statement now to distract from the Human Beings’ performance or anything else happening in the league. It’s become obvious that, with the amount of attention we get during the season, keeping our relationship secret was going to become impossible eventually and put more stress on us in the long term. And stress is not good for ballplayers—especially not for pitchers. (They’re highly strung and sensitive, if you didn’t know.)

We will not let our relationship affect our conduct on the field, in the dugout, or around our fellow Human Beings. We were teammates first. We will always be teammates first. We definitely have no intention of breaking up, but if it happens (knock on wood!), the last thing we want to do is tank our careers at the same time. We’re in this to win it, now and always.

Go Greendale, go Greendale, go!

**Troy Barnes**

Statement to the Press:

I am in a romantic relationship with Troy Barnes, who plays with me on the Greendale Human Beings. It’s going great so far. Troy is an excellent boyfriend and ballplayer. There is no need for further questions at this time.

**Abed Nadir**

—

 **August 2012,** **_Bright Ideas with Annie Edison_ ** **on ESPN**

Three pleasant chimes go off as blue and purple graphics swirl around the screen, fading out to reveal Annie Edison smiling at the camera. Annie is dressed in a yellow blazer, grey trousers, and a ruffled white shirt and leaning against a stool next to a giant green screen currently flashing the logo of her segment: Bright Ideas.

“Welcome back to Bright Ideas, where we talk about new and culturally significant moments in the world of baseball. I’m your host, Annie Edison, and tonight we’re going to be talking about an alleged homophobic incident that led to multiple evictions at the Greendale-San Diego game last night. Now, as a homegrown Colorado girl, I am very qualified to tell all you viewers at home that the rivalry between the Greendale Human Beings and the San Diego Troopers is not new. Going back to the 1970s, there was always a tension between the scrappy Human Beings and the better-funded, more successful, and more popular Boulder Troopers. If anything, the rivalry got worse, not better, when the Troopers moved to California in the mid-2000s. I’m sure I don’t need to tell regular viewers what that kind of betrayal means to fans, but for those of you tuning in for the first time, ask anyone who remembers the Brooklyn Dodgers. Or, for that matter, whose _grandfather_ remembers the Brooklyn Dodgers.

“Now, this show has previously covered the trailblazing coming out of Beings players Troy Barnes and Abed Nadir, but last night marked the first game between these two historic rivals since those statements were released, and things got ugly. Let’s pull up some clips.”

She stands and points a small remote at the screen. The logo fades away and is replaced by a clip from the network’s airing of the previous night’s game. A player in a black and white uniform (RIDER, 44) throws a pitch. Troy hits it over the left field wall and starts to jog around the bases.

“Okay, so this is Barnes’s first at bat, and right away we see he gets a beautiful home run over that left field wall to put the Beings in a 2-0 lead over the Troopers. Notice it’s a 23-second walk around the bases for Barnes, a very reasonable speed, and aside from a brief wave to the fans and some black-slapping in the dugout, we’re not seeing any excessive celebration. That was with one out; Winger hit a line drive to second and just barely missed the bag on that and then Rider struck out Stephenson to end the inning. At the top of the second, we see Nadir come up to bat.”

She clicks the remote and the clip changes. Abed comes up to the plate. The first pitch is an outside ball. He checks his swing at the second and the umpire calls a strike. Annie presses a button and the clip slows down.

“Now pay attention to this pitch here.” The ball hits Abed in his thigh as he turns away. “Okay, so we see Rider hit Nadir with a pitch. You can see it’s a 89 mile per hour pitch, so not especially fast or slow, and it hits him in the leg, not the traditional back-brush. So Rider is initially going to get a warning for this, but he claimed it was just a pitch that got away from him, and the placement is ambiguous—you can actually see Nadir shrugging here to suggest that he would agree. Then we fast forward to the top of the third—”

She clicks the remote again. Troy comes up to the plate. The catcher stands and takes a step to the side. The pitcher throws to him, nowhere near the plate.

“Here we see an intentional walk by Rider. With a power hitter like Barnes, that’s not surprising—Magnitude, sorry, Lee was already on first, so another homerun would have put the Beings in a 4-1 lead. But while the first three pitches were far outside, typical for an intentional walk, and the last was—”

Troy leaps back.

“— _very_ inside.” She clicks the remote again to Abed’s at-bat. “A few at-bats later, Lee has scored, so the score is 3-1 Beings. We have a base hit for Winger, a walk for Stephenson, and a strikeout for Jacobson, so the bases are loaded, Barnes is on third, and Nadir is up to bat. The first pitch is inside, but not excessively. The second pitch is more inside, and we see Nadir has to lift his arms and bend back to avoid getting hit by the pitch—and then on the third—”

Onscreen, the ball flies directly at Abed’s head, forcing him to drop to the dirt to avoid it. The crowd groans and boos. Annie straightens her shoulders, clearly angry but trying to remain professional.

“That, ladies and gentleman, was a beanball—97 miles per hour and definitely not a wild breaking pitch. Not surprisingly, we have some extremely pissed-off Human Beings after here. First off, Barnes charges the mound—”

Onscreen, Troy tears off his helmet and throws it on the ground. He storms off third base towards the mound. He shoves Rider’s shoulder, shouting indistinctly. Rider shouts back, poking his chest with a finger.

“And we came _very_ close to the first bench-clearing brawl of the year—frankly, I’m shocked it didn’t happen.”

The camera cuts to show the Beings and Troopers dugouts, where players on both sides are shouting and hanging over the railings. Then it cuts to the mound; Jeff is halfway off second base, clearly furious and swearing, with the shortstop on his heels. Abed approaches hastily, followed by the Troopers catcher. He puts a hand on Troy’s shoulder and says something in his ear. Whitman comes up and puts a hand on his other shoulder. Craig goes over and touches Jeff’s chest.

“But Nadir, manager Craig Pelton, and bench coach Eustice Whitman came up to play peacemaker and a brawl is avoided. Umpire Carl Blandt immediately evicted Barnes, Winger, and Rider, and then managers Spreck and Pelton when they objected. Major League Baseball this morning announced that Barnes and Winger will be suspended for four games, as is typical for fighting offenses, but that Rider will _not_ be suspended for the usual four games following the intentional hitting of a batter. This announcement caused widespread debate both in the baseball sphere and the blogosphere as viewers speculated whether Rider’s action or the MLB’s inaction was motivated by homophobia. We have Troy Barnes with us via satellite to share his perspective.”

She leans against the stool again and clicks the remote. Troy’s face appears. He is wearing a dark grey workout shirt and sitting on a chair in the Beings locker room.

“Troy, thank you so much for joining us tonight.”

“Thanks for having me, Annie.” He grins. “You know I love doing Troy and Annie in the afternoon.”

He cocks his head in a friendly gesture and Annie laughs.

“One of these days we’ll get you full time.”

“Hopefully later rather than sooner. I’ve got a lot of ballplaying left.”

“Yes, absolutely. But not so much in the next few days, unfortunately.”

“No.”

“So, let’s start with the elephant in the room. Charging the mound. That is not something we’re used to seeing from you.”

“No, Annie, and obviously it’s not something I’m going to make a habit of. Um. Yeah, I don’t like to think of myself as an angry person, I don’t get angry a lot, I don’t usually have a short temper. But last night…” He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “I think a lot of it was protectiveness, to be honest. I saw someone come really, really close to hurting Abed, who’s like my favorite person in the world, and you know there was at least one pitch left in that at-bat, and the only thing I was thinking was—don’t let him get away with it. Looking back, there were probably better ways to handle it. I should have left it to the coaches, to my manager, and kept a cool head and stayed in the game, but, you know, it is what it is. And I do want to say I’m sorry to our own fans, and to Rider and the Troopers, and I want to be better than that in the future… but I’m still waiting for an apology in return, and another one for Abed, because I’m not going to pretend that what happened before that was okay.”

“Now, walk us through your perspective of what happened. Did you suspect there was going to be this kind of animosity earlier in the game?”

“Well, in my first at-bat there wasn’t really time for it. The first time he hit Abed, the thought went through my mind, you know—but Abed even said Rider had trouble with the cutter and he had gotten pretty close to his pitch count the day before, so he wasn’t worried about it, so I wasn’t worried about it. By our second time up, yeah, I knew something was going down. You know, I’m a catcher, I _know_ how you walk a batter, and I could tell by the way Eneki, the Troopers catcher, was positioned that he was expecting an inside pitch for the last one. And that came _really_ close to hitting me. And like you said, I didn’t gloat after that homerun—I didn’t do anything that might earn getting plunked.”

“And then it came to Abed’s at-bat.”

Troy clenches his jaw and sits forward.

“Yeah. The first pitch could have been an accident, but the second one definitely wasn’t, and the third—that could have really hurt him. It could have broken his jaw or his face or hit him in the eye and I’m pretty sure you can’t pitch with an eyepatch. And it’s crazy because there’s supposed to be a code. I mean, Annie, you know. You watch all the games, right? When was the last time you saw a pitcher get hit by a pitch, when they haven’t plunked anyone all game?”

“Well, I don’t watch _all_ the games. But you’re right, it’s not something you see every day.”

“So, yeah, it was weird. It wasn’t a normal game.”

“Some people are suggesting that homophobia played a part. Do you agree with that?”

“Listen, I’m not psychic, okay? And if I was, I definitely wouldn’t waste my psychic powers on trying to find out if any of my fellow baseball players are homophobic. But...” Troy swallows, then nods decisively. “I just can’t think of any other reason for it. Nobody was gloating, none of the Troopers players got hit, there was no diss before the game. And like… baseball is still baseball. Maybe I’m going to upset some people by saying this, but… there have been a lot of people being really supportive and great, but I know Rider was one of the guys who said that it was cool for us to be gay but we shouldn’t be dating teammates—which isn’t about me and Abed not being a good couple. It’s about them not wanting gay guys to look at them in the shower. That’s what that is. And I’ve had people mutter things when they come up to bat or when they get struck out, and I’ve seen the kinds of things fans post on Twitter, and that’s just when we’re around. So I _know,_ 100%, people are saying worse things in the dugout when we can’t hear it. And I want to know why I’m suspended and Jeff is suspended and Rider isn’t. I want to know that.”

“Yeah, I’d like to hear an explanation of that, too,,” Annie says with a nod. “The statement from the MLB suggests that they don’t believe the pitch from Rider was unintentional, but I’m not sure that holds up under scrutiny.”

“Yeah, I think it’s crap.”

“What would you say to the comparison some people are making to Jackie Robinson, who was also frequently hit by pitches throughout his career, especially in his first season?”

“Oh, um.” Troy scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t know. That’s like… Jackie Robinson was like a hero, you know? I think comparing yourself to Jackie Robinson would be kind of a dick move. Like, there’s a difference between getting plunked a couple of times and getting arrested on the field and turned away from hotels.”

“Sure, of course. What do you think you’d like to see from Major League Baseball to become more welcoming?”

“I’m not sure exactly. Well, I know I want them to take another look at Rider’s suspension. And honestly, my _team_ has been great. They’ve all been totally normal—well, not totally normal.” He grins. “We’re all a bunch of weirdos. But they haven’t treated us differently at all. There were one or two people—uh, especially in like… ownership and coaching staff… who I don’t think had ever met gay people before, but even then they just kind of asked questions and listened to the answers and we all moved on. Sometimes I think a big part of the problem is that people can’t imagine what a gay baseball player is like, but they don’t want people to think they’re homophobic, so they just kind of guess in private instead of asking or learning the real truth. Just ask. You don’t have to guess.”

“What’s the number one thing you wish people would ask?”

“I wish people would ask if I went looking for guys to hook up with in the locker rooms, because then I could say _no._ Listen, I’ve been playing baseball since I was about seven years old on the tee ball team. I’ve been teammates with a _lot_ of dudes, and I’ve dated exactly one. I don’t try to hookup with teammates because I think it’s more convenient or something; it _just so happened_ that one of my teammates turned out to be the most amazing, awesome, incredible guy I’ve ever met, and that’s a once in a lifetime thing.”

“Awww,” Annie coos. She collects herself and clears her throat. “Well. Officially, I’m impartial, so I can’t say I’m rooting for the Beings—but I _can_ say that I’m really rooting for you and Abed.”

“Thanks, Annie,” Troy says with a sheepish grin. “We appreciate it.”

“And we appreciate you coming on today, Troy.”

“Thanks again for having me.”

He waves. The video feed cuts out, replaced with the logo again. Annie stands.

“There you have it, folks. That was Troy Barnes of the Human Beings, and I’m sure we’ll be hearing from him again soon. Back to you, Annie Kim.”

—

**2012 Season Standings, NL West:**

1st: San Francisco Giants  
2nd: Los Angeles Dodgers  
3rd: San Diego Troopers  
**4th: Greendale Human Beings**  
5th: Arizona Diamondbacks

* * *

**November 2012, Buzzfeed: “Gay Baseball Players Clap Back on Twitter”**

Earlier this year, baseball players Troy Barnes and Abed Nadir rocked Major League Baseball by announcing their romantic relationship, which makes them the first gay players in the major leagues. Abed is one of the starting pitchers for the Greendale Human Beings and Troy is the starting catcher.

As you might expect, thousands of very funny people on twitter have since tweeted at Abed and Troy, asking some variation of “who pitches and who catches?”

Well, today it looks like they finally had enough. Twitter user @CHOPit69 tweeted at Abed to ask “in ur relationship, who’s the pitcher lol.” Abed replied “I am.”

If that’s not enough, when one helpful soul tried to clarify “he means like for sex…” Troy stepped in.

“Did. He. Stutter?”

Well. You know what they say—play stupid ballgames, win stupid prizes.

—

**March 2013, Outsports: “Three Couples, Three Interviews: Lightning Round!”**

[excerpt]

We at Outsports love a two-athlete couple, and today we’re lucky to talk to three—Troy Barnes and Abed Nadir (MLB, Greendale Human Beings), Ali Krieger and Ashlyn Harris (NWSL, Washington Spirit), and Jayna Hefford and Kathleen Kauth (Olympic hockey players for Team Canada and Team USA, respectively) for our LIGHTNING ROUND interviews. Ten questions in five minutes. Let’s go.

  1. Who was your first celebrity crush?



NADIR: I don’t remember exactly… either Judd Nelson in _The Breakfast Club_ or Harrison Ford in—well, everything, but especially _Star Wars_ and _Indiana Jones._ _  
_ BARNES: You know, I already knew that, but I just kind of realized that neither of those dudes are _anything_ like me.  
NADIR: Sorry. Bender would have been a terrible boyfriend, though. First crushes are supposed to be unattainable and inappropriate.  
BARNES: I guess. Mine was the Red Power Ranger—I don’t remember the real guy’s name. And sort of LeVar Burton… I didn’t realize it was a crush until a long time afterwards, though.

  1. Do you remember your first in-person sporting event?



NADIR: It was a Human Beings game. They lost, but I got a foam finger so it evened out.  
BARNES: Actually the first game I ever went to was a football game. My dad had a coworker or somebody who gave him Broncos tickets. I just remember being really, really cold and hating the entire experience.

  1. How did you choose your jersey number?



NADIR: Mine is 3, which is the number of Star Wars movies I recognize.  
BARNES: Mine’s 15, which has been my lucky number since Little League. I’m not sure why, actually. My dad told me it was my lucky number, but I think that might just be because jersey numbers were in order of size back then and I was kind of a chunky kid.

  1. What’s your walkup song?



NADIR: The Imperial March, for obvious reasons.  
BARNES: Daybreak by Michael Hoggins. It’s this instrumental jazz song—it just makes me happy.

  1. Favorite baseball movie?



NADIR: _Field of Dreams._  
BARNES: Oh, I really like that one with Drew Barrymore and—  
NADIR: Stop.  
BARNES: What?  
NADIR: Stop. Of all the classic movies in this genre, you’re about to name a _Jimmy Fallon romcom_ as your favorite. How dare you?  
BARNES: What? I think it’s cute. They fall in love and stuff. Okay, okay, never mind. I’m going to say _Sandlot,_ then, so Abed won’t be mad at me.  
NADIR: We’re excited for _42,_ too.  
BARNES: Oh, yeah, _42’_ s going to be great—we’re hoping to see it the day it comes out.

  1. Favorite gay movie?



NADIR: I love _My Beautiful Laundrette._ It’s a classic.  
BARNES: I really liked _I Love You Phillip Morris._ It’s kind of dumb, but it’s fun, you know? We need more _fun_ gay movies.

  1. If you could be anything except a baseball player, what would you be?



NADIR: I think I’d like to make movies. Write, direct, something like that—TV was my first real love, and then baseball came second. I know I’m technically a jock, but I’m still a nerd at heart.  
BARNES: Honestly, I have no idea. Like, none. I’m good at fixing things, I guess?  
NADIR: Yeah, you are.  
BARNES: But I don’t know if I’d want to be, like, a plumber just because I can always get our faucet to stop leaking… I don’t know, I’m pretty happy being a baseball player.

  1. What is your partner’s most annoying habit?



NADIR: Troy chews gum in the dugout sometimes. It’s my least favorite sound in the world, but half the team does it and I can’t punch all of them so I have to put up with it.  
BARNES: He doesn’t have any annoying habits.  
NADIR: Yes I do.  
BARNES: Nope.  
NADIR: I talk through movies constantly—actually I just always talk all the time, I don’t wash my dishes right away, and I complain about time zones _every_ time we change time zones.  
BARNES: I don’t know what to tell you, man. I love every moment of dating you.  
NADIR: Oh... Now I feel bad.

  1. What is the best thing about dating a fellow athlete?



NADIR: Having someone who understands everything. We have some different interests, but it’s great being able to talk about work and baseball and movies and TV and not having to start at square one in every conversation.  
BARNES: We get to travel together all the time. You know, like it can be really lonely and exhausting having to travel so much, so it’s awesome when you get to do it with your best friend. Also, he gives great backrubs.

  1. What advice would you give other LGBT athletes?



NADIR: When you’re playing the game, it’s the game that matters, and that’s all you really owe anybody else. No one has a right to more of your personal life than you want to share.  
BARNES: I would say… find your people. Playing at a level like ours, it’s really hard, and being out can be really hard, and your brain can get tired just like your body gets tired, and you have to give yourself like a mental ice bath and backrub. And that’s love.

[end excerpt]

—

**2013 Season Standings, NL West:**

1st: Los Angeles Dodgers  
**2nd: Greendale Human Beings**  
3rd: San Diego Troopers  
4th: Arizona Diamondbacks  
5th: San Francisco Giants

The Greendale Human Beings lose the wildcard game and fail to make the playoffs.

* * *

**March 2014, PEOPLE Magazine: “Celebrity Sightings”**

[image description: Troy, wearing jean shorts, sneakers, circular sunglasses, and a royal blue Greendale baseball jersey. He is taking a sip from a bright pink Starbucks drink and flashing a peace sign at the camera.]

[image description: Troy, from behind, jerking a thumb at his upper back. The name at the top of the jersey is NADIR, with the number 3 below it.]

We’ve all seen photos of baseball players wearing their club’s gear out and about. We’ve seen them wearing their own merch, even—although the jury’s still out on whether it’s cute or obnoxiously self-centered. Greendale Human Beings player Troy Barnes was spotted yesterday in Phoenix wearing a Human Beings jersey, but not his own—his boyfriend’s! Can you say #CoupleGoals?

—

**September 2014, Borchert Stadium. National League Division Championship, Game 6 of a Best-of-7 Series, San Diego Troopers vs. Greendale Human Beings**

The first indication that something was going on was when Craig screamed.

Troy was standing near him when the dugout phone rang. He answered the phone with perfect calm, and Troy heard Frankie’s voice saying, “Hey, I just want to make sure everything’s fine down there.”

“Sure,” Craig said curiously. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“...Are you serious?”

“What, is there something wrong?” He looked up at the scoreboard—and then he yelped, slapping a hand over his mouth. It was more of a half-scream then a full scream, but it was enough to catch everyone’s attention.

“What was that?” Jeff asked.

“Nothing,” Craig said with a deer-in-the-headlights look. “I just realized—nothing.”

“Oh,” Jeff said. “That nothing.”

“It’s nothing to be concerned about,” Frankie said over the phone. _“Right?”_

“Right,” Craig said, hanging up the phone.

“What are you all talking about?” Abed asked. “Were you looking at the stats? Oh, I get it, you mean—”

“Abed!” Troy cut him off. _“Fight Club!”_

Abed shot a finger gun at him. He was sitting all alone in the middle of the bench, with a foot of space on either side of him. This was even more serious than fight club, because the first rule of fight club was don’t talk about fight club, but they made a whole movie about it. The first rule of a perfect game was _do not talk about a perfect game,_ and _no one_ ever talked about a perfect game.

No one was even supposed to talk to the pitcher during a perfect game in case talking would break him out of the zone. Except… His middle finger was tracing tight circles on the metal of the bench, which meant he was tense. And that wasn’t good for anyone, right?

Troy took a seat six inches away, just in case.

“Womp rat’s not much bigger than a catcher’s mitt,” he murmured out of the corner of his mouth.

“I used to bulls-eye womp rats in my T-16 back home,” Abed replied, doing a perfect Hammill. He paused. “Although I appreciate the reference, the quote is ‘they’re not much bigger than two meters,’ and your mitt is definitely not two meters.”

“How much is two meters in English?”

“Six and a half feet.”

“Oh. Never mind, then.”

They heard the crack of the bat. Everyone except the two of them jumped to their feet—and then groaned as Todd’s line drive was snatched out of the air by the shortstop. Abed reached for his glove.

“I’m not worried, you know,” he said.

“No?”

“Nope. You know why?”

“Tell me.”

Abed leaned down to speak into his ear.

“Abed!” Jeff said, exasperated.

“Shut up, Winger.”

“Because I’m going to throw a perfect game. We’re going to get to the World Series. And we’re going to win it.” He straightened and worked the heel of his hand against his glove. “Maybe not this season, and maybe not in that order, but someday. So I’m not worried about tonight.”

There was a lump in Troy’s throat. He nodded, and then they turned and climbed up the steps to the dugout.

“I’d like it to be this season, though,” he said.

“Yeah. Me, too.”

They paused at the first baseline. They did their handshake, and the crowd erupted in cheers.

“So let’s play some ball,” Troy said. Abed nodded, and they jogged into position.

—

Something happened to Abed when he stepped on the pitcher’s mound. He wasn’t sure how to describe it—somehow, the total sensory overload turned into sensory deprivation. The roar of the crowd became nothing more than TV static. The enormous stadium narrowed to nothing more than the pristine chalk outline of the diamond. He didn’t see anything, didn’t notice anything, except the three people in front of him. Batter. Umpire. Troy.

It used to make him really bad at catching baserunners. That had been a weakness going back to Little League—but he and Troy had developed a signal by their second season together, minuscule enough to make it quick, obvious enough for Abed to catch it before it was too late. Troy was the best catcher he had ever worked with. Forget friend, forget boyfriend—he was just _good._ He could tell when Abed was tired or stressed or favoring one foot over the other. One time, after the first inning, Troy had walked back to the dugout with him and sympathetically asked “got a hangnail?”

He had never been very good at trusting his catchers. But Troy was different.

There were two outs. Twenty-six batters had come up for the Troopers, and twenty-six had gone down again. The entire stadium was holding its breath. Abed took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He toyed with the ball in his hand. Troy’s fingers twisted in two meaningless signs and then the one for a four-seam fastball right over the middle, and Abed nodded. Eneki never hit the first pitch. It took him a couple to get a feel for the speed.

 _Thwack._ The ball hit Troy’s mitt and the air shivered as the bat passed through it. Eneki’s face was stony as he stepped back to take a few practice swings. He was raring to go, itching to get a hit. He wasn’t going to win it for his team—the Beings were up by five, there were two outs, and they would bat last. But he could ruin a perfect game. The thought alone made Abed flinch. He took another deep breath.

 _Splitter,_ Troy signed, and Abed nodded. Fast, but with a little more movement around the plate. _Thwack._ Eneki swung so hard that he lost his balance and had to catch himself with one foot on home plate. The roar of the crowd briefly reached a pitch that even Abed couldn’t block out. He turned around and picked up the rosin bag. He grimaced at the chalky texture, as always—but his hands were sweaty and this was _not_ the time to lose his grip. He fiddled with the bag for a moment and then dropped it, turning around to meet Troy’s gaze from sixty feet, six inches away. Troy’s eyes were shining but he was forcing his face to remain serious. He squatted. He hesitated for a moment and then, slowly, gave the sign for a cutter, outside. Eneki liked wide pitches. He was so keyed up, he might just go for one that was completely outside the strike zone. Abed nodded.

He didn’t go for it.

The crowd groaned as the ball hit Troy’s glove again and the umpire failed to signal a strike. Eneki _wanted_ to swing—he almost swung, bat swaying forward early before being yanked back… and that gave Abed an idea. He tilted his head, considering, and casually caught the ball as Troy tossed it back to him. He spun it in his palm. The moment stretched on. He stepped up to the rubber. Troy gave the signal for a two-seam fastball; his two-seam would move inside, in the opposite direction from the cutter, which might be disorienting, and wasn’t Eneki’s preferred spot. On the other hand….

Abed shook his head. Troy’s face creased—or at least, as far as he could tell behind the cage of his mask. _Four-seam fastball,_ he signed. Abed shook his head again. He didn’t do this very often; usually they were on the same page. But Troy wasn’t mad about it. His eyes rose. _Changeup?_ he signed—the hesitation in his fingers added the question mark. Abed’s mouth curved in the slightest smile, and he nodded.

The changeup was one of the pitches Abed used the least. He prided himself on his breaking balls, on being able to move the pitch wherever he wanted at high speeds so the batters could barely see them. He was good at that. But he was also very well known for it. He had just thrown three pitches in a row over 90 miles per hour… and Eneki really, really, really wanted to get a hit.

Abed dug his foot into the dirt of the mound. He lifted his leg and hung there, suspended, for a breath as he moved into his windup. The ball floated out of his hand. Eneki took a step forward and swung. And then the ball crossed the plate.

The entire stadium was screaming. The dugout and the fielders were howling, and Abed’s ears were ringing and he could barely hear them—the next thing he was aware of was Troy leaping into him so hard that Abed had no choice except to catch him around the waist to keep him from falling down entirely. _1956, Yogi Berra and Don Larsen,_ his mind supplied, although he didn’t think it was an intentional reference because when Abed stumbled and Troy’s feet hit the ground, his hands settled on the sides of Abed’s neck and their foreheads touched, which was a little too intimate for Berra and Larsen. Well, okay, Abed’s forehead touched the bumpy metal cage of Troy’s helmet. But still.

 _No kissing on the field or in the dugout,_ he thought regretfully. The same thought flashed across Troy’s face as he drew back. But he didn’t go far—Abed didn’t let him. He flung his arm around Troy’s shoulders and looked up into the bright lights, the sea of blue-and-white flags and jerseys and caps. He was sweaty and breathing hard, and for the first time he allowed a smile to spread across his face. His right hand squeezed Troy’s upper arm. His left gripped the brim of his cap and lifted it high, just as the rest of the team crashed into them.

“GO GREENDALE, GO GREENDALE, GO!” each and every one of them was shouting gleefully, echoed by fifty thousand people—and Troy, his voice warm in abed’s ear.

—

**2014 Season Standings, NL West:**

1st - San Diego Troopers  
**2nd - Greendale Human Beings**  
3rd - Los Angeles Dodgers  
4th - San Francisco Giants  
5th - Arizona Diamondbacks

The Greendale Human Beings lose Game 7 of the League Championship to their division rivals, the San Diego Troopers, who advance to the World Series. The Troopers lose to the Kansas City Royals.

* * *

**October 2015, Borchert Stadium. Game 6 of the World Series, New York Yankees vs. Greendale Human Beings**

PATASHNIK: Welcome back, folks. My name is Elroy Patashnik.

HICKEY: And I’m Buzz Hickey.

PATASHNIK: And we are back here at Borchert Stadium for the sixth game of the World Series. The Human Beings lead the Yankees 5-3 here at the top of the ninth inning, and 3-2 in games so far. If the Beings manage to keep that lead, we might be about to see the first World Series win in franchise history. If not… well, there’s always Game Seven.

HICKEY: Gotta say, Elroy, I’d like to end it in Game Six. Pitting a team with no World Series pennants against a team with 27, it’s not good for the blood pressure.

PATASHNIK: You’ve got a point there, Buzz. It looks like the Beings are ready to take the field again… and Nadir is staying in for the last inning. He was out the last game, resting his arm after pitching a combined twelve innings over the first three games—most of them in Game Three, when the Beings were able to take advantage of that designated hitter rule and give their star pitcher a bit of a break. We’ll see if Nadir makes it to the end of the inning.

HICKEY: Nadir’s got stamina—he’s pitched ten other nine inning games so far this season, the most of any pitcher in 2015. But—yeah, Joey Elkins is warming up in the bullpen, just in case.

PATASHNIK: And here we go, Masahiro Tanaka is stepping up to the plate. We’re at the bottom of the lineup for New York, and Tanaka doesn’t usually hit in the American League, so we’ll see how he does.

HICKEY: It is a batter’s field here in Colorado, that’s for sure, but you know, that’s never stopped Nadir before. Strike one! First strike on the board for Nadir—beautiful slider there.

PATASHNIK: He really favors that pitch... And that’s a ball. Looks like he was going for another breaking pitch there, and Tanaka was tempted, but he pulled back the swing just in time… Strike two! Fastball clocking in at 98 MPH, Tanaka tried to go for it but it blew right by…

HICKEY: And that’s going to be a foul ball up the first base line—Winger goes for it—and he’s got it. One out for the Beings at the top of the ninth.

PATASHNIK: Jacoby Ellsbury’s coming up to bat next, and we are back to the top of lineup. Ellsbury has an on-base percentage of .389 this season and he is 2 for 4 so far in the game, with a walk and a single.

HICKEY: This is a guy you don’t want on base. Leads the American League in stolen bases—I think he’s even stolen home a couple of times this season, hasn’t he?

PATASHNIK: I think you’re right—against the Astros.

HICKEY: Yeah—that’s strike one.

PATASHNIK: And… uh-oh.

HICKEY: That ball is—yeah, that’s gone. Ellsbury is going to bring it to 5-4 here on a hanging curve. That’s not a mistake you want to make this late in the game.

PATASHNIK: Mm, that’s unfortunate. You know, like we said, Nadir has a decent fastball but he likes his breaking balls—and every once in a while, one is just not going to move where you want it. That’s Ellsbury’s 62nd home run of the season.

HICKEY: We’ve seen a couple of good hits this game. There was Barnes’ solo homer in the first inning, great way to start off the game, and Winger’s two-run home run in the fifth—

PATASHNIK: Yes, that was a good one to see. You know—

HICKEY: That’s a strike for Nadir.

PATASHNIK: —There’s been so much focus the last few seasons on the pitching, what with Nadir’s perfect game last year and just generally phenomenal record. But if you talk to any Beings players, they’ll all tell you, Jeff Winger was really responsible for the turnaround of 2009.

HICKEY: Absolutely. Gottta give him credit for it. I would’ve said it wasn’t worth the effort. It’s been a lackluster franchise for so long, but Winger really brought some energy, some commitment to the clubhouse.

PATASHNIK: Exactly. And it’s a shame to have him retire so soon…

HICKEY: Soon for this team, at least.

PATASHNIK: Right, right. The front office had to know when they signed a 35-year-old first baseman that they weren’t going to be able to keep him forever. But if he has to go, leaving with a home run, at your home field, in your team’s first World Series appearance—that’s a nice note to end it on.

HICKEY: World Series ring would be better. Okay, the count is 3-1… And that’s an outside ball. Gardner is going to walk.

PATASHNIK: Next up is Carlos Beltran. Beltran is 1 for 4 so far. He hit a single in his first plate appearance but was struck out twice and out at first in his last at-bat. Here’s the pitch… Swing and a miss for Beltran. Nice cutter there from Nadir.

HICKEY: Yeah, Beltran doesn’t like those. Next pitch—ball in the dirt…

PATASHNIK: And then he gets the bat around, and that’s going to be a hit. It lands in left field, between Todd Jacobson and Alex Osbourne. Gardner gets over to second base, they’re going to keep him there, and Beltran is going to be safe at first. We’ve got only one out, with the Yankees down by one—so that’s the tying and winning run out there on the field, potentially.

HICKEY: Couple of rough at-bats for Nadir.

PATASHNIK: Okay, a timeout has been called by Beings manager Craig Pelton. He’s heading out to the mound—we might be seeing a pitching substitution.

HICKEY: He’s not gonna like that.

PATASHNIK: No, he isn’t.

HICKEY: Nadir really likes to play a complete game. Sure, it makes him unusable for four or five days after, and there’s Game Seven to think about—but what the hell, he’s made it eight and a half so they wouldn’t put him in tomorrow anyway.

PATASHNIK: Elkins is watching from the bullpen… And it looks like Nadir is shaking his head… It looks like Barnes agrees with him. And—and yes, Pelton is going to leave Nadir in the game. Not a bad strategy, when you’ve got one of the best pitcher-catcher partnerships in baseball on the field. We’ll see how that works out for the Beings. Oh and there’s the famous handshake. Listen to that cheer from the crowd! There is something reassuring about it—it’s become a kind of good-luck charm for the fans here at Borchert’s Stadium. Gotta love the handshake, huh Buzz?

HICKEY: Tell you the truth, I think it’s a little hokey. But what do I know, I’m just a grouchy old man.

PATASHNIK: It doesn’t remind you of your youth?

HICKEY: I didn’t have a youth. I was the grouchiest, oldest center fielder the Beings ever had.

PATASHNIK: All right. Mark Teixeira up to bat next. Teixeira has batted in 98 runs so far this season and I’m sure he’d love a chance to bat in two more.

HICKEY: Absolutely. First pitch by Nadir—that’s a strike. Hell of a pitch there—what did that come in at?

PATASHNIK: 101 MPH.

HICKEY: That’s one of his fastest this season. Not bad for the ninth inning.

PATASHNIK: That’s for sure! And then ball one. Nice-looking curveball there, just a little bit low… That’s going to be strike two on a foul ball. Another fastball there, and Teixeira just couldn’t get the bat around. The count is 1-2…

HICKEY: And another strike! Teixeira caught looking at that breaking ball. All right, two strike-outs for Nadir, two runners on base.

PATASHNIK: Next up is Yankees catcher Brian McCann.

HICKEY: Geeze, I gotta tell ya, Elroy, I’m getting a little nervous.

PATASHNIK: Me too.

HICKEY: I mean, hell, if you told me seven years ago I’d be watching a game where Greendale was one out away from winning a World Series—I would have laughed you out of the room.

PATASHNIK: I think a lot of people would agree with you. Do you think Nadir looks nervous down there?

HICKEY: Nadir never looks nervous. That’s his face the whole game.

PATASHNIK: Looks like he’s taking a minute to refocus himself, though.

HICKEY: Good. If there’s ever a time to focus, it’s now. Okay, now he’s stepping up to the rubber. He makes the throw—ball one, high.

PATASHNIK: I’m surprised McCann didn’t go for that one. He likes the higher pitches.

HICKEY: Yeah.

PATASHNIK: Strike one! That was a two-seam fastball—95 MPH so not quite as fast as we’ve seen so far, but nice movement on it. McCann just couldn’t get to the right spot.

HICKEY: That was a nice looking pitch. And—strike two! Runners on first and second, two outs, and we are one strike away from a Greendale victory.

PATASHNIK: It’s a tense stadium here in Colorado. Awful lot of visitors might need a fresh pair of pants depending on how this goes—and I might be one of them!

HICKEY: Don’t think you needed to say that, but okay. Here’s Nadir with the windup—it’s a foul ball—popped up near the third baseline—Barnes has got his helmet off—

PATASHNIK: He’s got it!

HICKEY: He’s got it!

PATASHNIK: I don’t believe it! With a foul ball caught by Barnes, that is a ball game, folks! And that’s a World Series for the Greendale Human Beings! The first World Series in franchise history!

HICKEY: And I’d have to check the books, but I think _that’s_ the first on-the-lips kiss between teammates in a World Series history.

PATASHNIK: I think you’d be right about that. But you know what, they’ve earned it.

HICKEY: Yeah. Hell, if I were down there, I might be tempted to kiss Barnes on the mouth myself.

PATASHNIK: I think Nadir might have something to say about that.

HICKEY: Well, they’re down there with champagne and we’re up here, so I don’t think we have to worry about it. Damn… the Human Beings have a World Series.

PATASHNIK: They do. You heard it here, folks—5-4, and the Beings take the Yankees in six games. Stick around and we’ll head down to the clubhouse for some very, very happy end-of-game interviews. Until then, I’ve been Elroy Patashnik—

HICKEY: And I’m Buzz Hickey.

PATASHNIK: And you have a good night, Greendale.

—

**October 2015, Twitter Video**

Troy and Abed are leaning against a kitchen island, wearing their morning show gear and holding their custom-printed traveling mugs.

“Troy and Abed in the morning!” they sing in unison, toasting the camera.

“Welcome back, folks, to a very special at-home episode of Troy and Abed in the morning,” Abed says, inclining his head. “Now we know what you’re thinking—”

“Didn’t you guys play a very important baseball game recently?” Troy asks, imitating a guest.

“Yes.”

“Is that what this very special episode of your show is about?”

“No.” Abed points his index finger at the camera and takes a sip from his mug. “Tell the viewers at home what it’s about, Troy.”

“Love to, Abed. We’ve got an announcement to make, and we’ve been sitting on this one for about two weeks.”

“Didn’t want to jinx it,” Abed offers.

“Exactly. Because a couple of days ago, we won some pretty fancy, exclusive rings. And we… really wanted those rings.”

“Really, really.”

“Yeah. A whole lot. So we thought it might be bad luck to flaunt the rings we had gotten a couple days earlier. In case rings get jealous.”

“Troy, would you like to show that ring to the folks at home?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He holds up his left hand dramatically and wiggles his ring finger, on which sits a simple platinum wedding band. “Bam. What about you, Abed—got one like this?”

“I think I just might.”

Abed holds up his hand. They glance at each other out of the corner of their eyes, and both burst into giggles. Abed nudges Troy with his shoulder, and Troy leans over to kiss him. They keep it to one kiss, but pull away with obvious reluctance. Troy looks down, trying to suppress his smile, before looking up at the camera sheepishly.

“Yeah. Um. October 15th, we just got a couple of friends and family members and teammates in our backyard, and… Told you guys 15 was my lucky number.”

“Yeah.” Abed looks at him adoringly; Troy looks back, likewise. “We’re keeping our own last names,” he says, dragging his gaze away to face the camera again. “Because there’s not a lot of space on the back of a jersey. But, yeah, we got married. Please update the record books and your headlines accordingly. Historic gay, married baseball players are gay-married.”

“Hell yeah they are.”

Troy kisses him on the cheek, and Abed’s face goes soft. Troy toasts the camera, and the screen fades to black.

—

**2015 Season Standings, NL West:**

**1st -** **Greendale Human Beings**  
2nd - Los Angeles Dodgers  
3rd - San Francisco Giants  
4th - Arizona Diamondbacks  
5th - San Diego Troopers

#SixSeasonsAndAWorldSeries


End file.
